


On the 10th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Tenth Time's a Charm

by Mangokiwitropicalswirl



Series: The Twelve Tropes of Christmas [10]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangokiwitropicalswirl/pseuds/Mangokiwitropicalswirl





	

Once arriving at the hospital, after hurling some cash at the cabbie, Scully expedites the intake process through a forceful deployment of her badge and a few strategic shouts of “I’m a medical doctor!”

Within 20 minutes, Mulder is in for a CT scan as she paces the hallway nervously, nearly slipping on her heels a half-dozen times. 

“Mrs. Mulder?” A lab tech pokes his head out of the exam room doors. She doesn’t respond until he repeats it loudly in her direction. “Mrs. Mulder, would you be more comfortable in the waiting room? He’ll be a few more minutes.”

“I'm AGENT Scully,” she barks, “And no, thank you, I’d like you to let me in there. I’m a medical doctor.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, I thought…” the tech looks at her long coat, buttons undone to reveal her now-wrinkled red gown, her smudged lipstick and strappy heels. “Forgive me, I assumed…”

“I assume you need to monitor that machine,” Scully nods toward the glass window beyond which Mulder lies immobilized while the computers register a cross section of his brain. She watches as the screens generate the colored images that remind her so much of her own hospitalizations, and all the other traumas they’ve endured during their partnership. She stands behind the technician and begins to breathe more evenly as the scans appear to all effects, normal. Though a specialist will need to review them, from what she can see, there’s no significant trauma.

“What room will he be in?” She asks the tech.

“Why don’t you go wait and I’ll send someone for you as soon as we’ve moved him,” he replies.

Though she doesn’t want to leave him, she has to admit it will feel good to sit down for a few minutes, so she makes her way down to the softly lit waiting area and collapses into a plush armchair. 

She doesn’t remember dozing off, but what must be some time later, a young admitting nurse is tapping her on the shoulder. “Mrs. Scully,” she says softly, “we’ve moved your husband to observation, if you want to see him now.”

“Huh,” Scully mumbles, “Uh, he’s not my husband.”

“I’m sorry, your boyfriend?” The nurse looks apologetic and embarrassed.

Scully tries to reach for her badge before realizing this whole conversation is just slowing things down. With a deep sigh, she rises. “What room?”

The nurse leads her down the hall and eases open the door to where Mulder lays propped up on a pile of pillows. Scully rushes past the nurse and strides toward the bed. In her hurry, she misses the way Mulder’s eyes widen at the sight of her in her elegant dress, despite how unkempt she’s now feeling. He looks her slowly up and down, swallowing a gulp as she bends to adjust the bed, her breasts plumping over the scooping neckline as she leans toward him.

“How are you feeling, Mulder?” She is assessing his vision now, holding a finger out in front of him and moving it side to side. “You look flushed. Have they given you anything to drink?” She reaches to hand him a plastic jug full of ice chips on the tray next to him.

“I, um,” he stutters, still taken aback by her appearance, “I think I’m okay. But I’m a little confused.”

“Do you remember anything more?” She raises her eyebrows hopefully.

“I’m remembering that today was the FBI social.” He begins. “And from what I can see from the way we are dressed, we must have attended.”

“But nothing else?” She probes further.

“I have a few flashes of images, but can’t seem to put it all together,” he shrugs. “Did we, um, did we dance?”

Scully blushes a little and drops her gaze. “Yes. Yes we did.” 

She sits down on the edge of Mulder’s bed and reaches for his chart. Flipping through it, she reviews the initial assessment. `“I don’t see any reason for memory loss, Mulder. You probably have a concussion, but it doesn’t seem likely that would be significant enough for this level of amnesiac event.”

Mulder falls silent again as his eyes trace up the sinuous curve of her bare legs, along the creeping hem of her skirt and flitter over the white expanse of her upper chest that’s exposed beneath her open coat. She flips back and forth through the pages for a few moments as Mulder watches her. If he didn’t know better, he would say she seems nervous or out-of-her element, but hospitals and medical lingo are Scully’s native habitat. Still, she seems distracted and even through the haze of his throbbing headache, he begins looking for clues.

First, her hair seems mussed and her lipstick seems smudged. He leans a little closer to her on the bed even as she avoids making eye contact, intent on the notes of his chart. He swears he can see her flush as his arm presses against her back. Beneath the oppressive smell of hospital bleach, he catches a whiff of perfume and something muskier, oddly familiar but enticing. 

And then he sees it, a few tell-tale purple blossoms along the column of her neck, more noticeable as she blushes at the pressure of his torso leaning closer to her in the bed.

“Scully?” He interrupts what appears to be her 10th review of his chart. “Um, this is a little awkward to have to ask, but, um, did we do more than dance?”

“What makes you think that?” Scully turns toward him, trying to feign innocence and failing miserably.

“Well, there are a few clues,” he smiles, his voice deepening, “But if I was able to make it through a whole night next to you dressed in that dress and not make a move, you might as well leave me for dead in this hospital bed right now.”

She blushes again and ducks her head. “There might have been some kissing,” she says quietly.

“Oh my god,” Mulder groans and drops his head into his hands, “You cannot tell me I don’t even remember our first kiss!”

“First, yes,” she gulps and pauses before adding with a smile, “and second, and, um, quite a few after that.”

“Oh God!,” Mulder’s groans deepen as he burys his face deeper into his hands.

“If it’s any consolation, I certainly won’t forget it.” She sets the chart down at the foot of the bed and turns toward him, smoothing an arm down over his hunched shoulder. Her other hand pulls his hands away from his face and coaxes him to sit up. She threads her fingers through his and squeezes tightly. “I’ll just have to help you remember.”

Mulder’s eyes widen as Scully leans slowly toward him, a never-before-seen mischievous look in her eye. He makes a mental note to remember as much as he can of what’s happening, determined to imprint the memory of her lips against his for this first time so that it’ll take more than a little concussion to knock the sensation out of him. Before their mouths can make contact, however, there’s the creak of door hinges and the rustle of scrubs.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, nice to meet you both. I’m Doctor Zimmerman. How are we doing this evening?”


End file.
